Night Elves in Trouble

The boughs of Teldrassil had long been the home of the Night Elves, one of the most ancient races of Azeroth, and in all that time, they had defended it against all enemies, Horde or otherwise. The closest that most incursions had ever gotten had been the forests of Ashenvale, where skirmishes over territory and lumber had raged between the Warsong Outriders and Darnassus' most trusted front-line defenders, the Silverwing Sentinels, for years.

That lasting peace had been shattered in a matter of weeks. An oily, stinking pit was dug into the Temple of the Moon, the shackle-posts hammered and riveted into the ancient floors like unwelcome tumors of iron. The periphery was tastelessly draped in a barbarian's idea of luxury - the antlers of rare animals piled against the walls, canopies of beastskin covering the intricate engravings on the walls. This was the orcish sensibility that had wrapped Darnassus in a stinking shroud, a further indignity brought by the brutal invading force.

Darnassus had been conquered.

Tyrande's eyes flickered in the dim light of the morning. She was shackled crudely but effectively, her arms pulled to each side and extended, the weight of the chains leaving her little choice but to kneel in her shallow gaol - a dirty hole that had been haphazardly blasted into the temple floor by Venture Company sappers. Crumbs of shattered masonry dusted her bare and shapely feet, the soles upturned behind her as she lingered in her forced submission. Her knees were stained with the oiled dirt of the makeshift prison pit. The swell of her buttocks and hips bulged in the torn remnants of her outfit, and her breasts hung firm and pert despite their considerable size and lack of support. Stripped of all of her trappings but her ruined dress, earrings and tiara, her peerless form nonetheless carried a beauty untouched by the defilement around her.

Beauty, yes. Dignity was another matter. The temple, foremost of Darnassus' holy places and sanctum of the Sisters of Elune, had long been a place of contemplation and peace for Tyrande and her confidants. Now, though, even with eyes shut against the unwelcome images that had come to surround these past weeks, she could not ignore of her new circumstances. In addition to being brutal conquerors and murderers, her Kil'kron jailers lusted constantly after kal'dorei females, of which Tyrande was the foremost specimen, both in status and stature. She would not give them the satisfaction of breaking her - but she was not the only female in her dank and brutal enclave. Another had been chained up nearby, along with her two children - Raene Wolfrunner, former commander of all Sentinel forces in Ashenvale. Like Tyrande, the purple-skinned bellatrix had been stripped and shackled at wrist and ankle. She knelt in the corner, her son straddling one smooth thigh and her daughter straddling the other, but of them naked and chained to her, while the two nubile youths took huge pulls of breast milk from her enormous tits.

The daughter seemed to have the body of a fourteen-year-old human girl, though Tyrande could not be sure of her true maturity. Her form was long and lean, but more petite than the panther-like huntresses who were almost amazonian in stature and musculature. Her midsection was smooth, her silver hair falling to her neck and contrasting with her mother's purple tresses. The way the child was grinding her hairless pussy on her mother's thigh, she seemed to be taking pleasure both from the stimulation of her young slit, but from the great mouthfuls of milk she was drinking, her hollowed-out cheeks pulling Raene's breasts into conical shapes. Her skin was flawless, but her nakedness could not hide the sheen of orc-sweat and cum that still glistened on her haunches. Even now, two hulking Kil'kron guards were watching the rutting family and stroking their fat, flopping penises. Rivulets of yellow-white pre-cum hung ran their pissholes like sap from a spigot.

Raene's son was perhaps even more gorgeous than her daughter - he looked equivalent in age to a 12-year-old human boy, his light blue skin and silver hair betraying his true race as readily as his ears. He had the supple and lithe body of a hunter but had not yet approached the age where his shoulders would widen and the first wisps of his beard begin to show. His form had been tempered not by battle but by sprightly trips to and from Darnassus to Astranaar as a messenger. Only a hint of graceful muscle was showing, and his facial features were angular and refined. While he wrapped his full lips around his mother's nipple and sucked, she reached between his smooth thighs and jerked off his tiny, hairless 3" penis. The orcs laughed cruelly at this, brandishing their own grotesquely sized endowments and dripping their issue all over the taut bubble butts of both thigh-straddling night elf youths.

Raene's free hand was rutting in the wet and puffy confines of her pussy. "Yes! Suck the milk out of me, children!" she moaned, turning her head to the side to kiss desperately at her boy's scalp, spraying her hot and desperate breath onto her progeny, giving the orcs an incestuous tit-sucking show for the ages. "Drain my fucking tits! By Elune, it feels so good!"

Tyrande, silent and despairing, could not resist objecting. "Do not invoke the Goddess' name so, Raene!" she begged, her cheek pressed against the floor miserably. "Use it for strength! Do not give in!"

Her plea fell on deaf ears, for the purple-haired Sentinel only turned to her. "That is not my name...nnngh," came the reply, in between gasps of pleasure from her children's oral ministrations. "M-my new name is Fuckslut…and… you...nnngh… must address me as such. Ugh… yes son, draw the filthy milk from my huge tits! Nourish your body with it so you can take more orcish dicks up your ass!"

The night elf boy moaned and gripped his mother's huge breast with two hands, angling the nipple into his mouth and drinking, while his mother jerked him off. His round and shapely boy-butt jiggled on her thigh as orcish spew splattered all over it from the masturbating overseers... his nubile young body becoming slick with perspiration.

"My new name is Dumb Twat!" chirped the young daughter, taking her mouth from the spurting nipple, the milk splattering all over her firm breasts. "And my brother is Worthless Fag! The Common tongue has so many wonderful names for us! I never knew!" Her voice was enthusiastic, dazed, sex-crazed. Her mother had thrown a family name that had persisted for 10,000 years into the trash at the behest of her orc captors… and the girl couldn't have cared less. Tyrande had to turn her head away and try to shut out the sounds.

"Fuck my daughter's cunt and my son's asshole," Fuckslut begged the assembled orcs, pushing her spew-soaked children away slightly, droplets of milk still clinging to their pouty and enticing mouths. Their silver hair plastered to their necks with milk and sweat, their child-like bodies back-arched, butt-outthrust and looking back over their shoulders, the two youths were more enticing to the brutal Kil'kron than any more traditional concubines could have hoped to be. The shackled duo stood, chains clattering, and the proud, fuck-crazed mother watched as two brutes stood behind them and grabbed their hips with hands that seemed like bear paws. Two huge, dangling, wart-covered, olive skinned dicks flopped between two pairs of pubescent butt cheeks. Cockheads with ridged glans slid roughly in the furrows of the two. The heavy penises were huge in comparison to the fey children.

An outsider would have been sickened by the depravity of the mother offering up her first and second-born, but Tyrande had seen what the Kil'kron had inflicted for things to get to this point. Starvation. Beatings. Threats of violence against captives at other sites… and foul injections from the infamous Venture Company scientist, Jizzie Rattlecage - syrums that seemed to cloud the mind and fire the libido. Raene had first given up her own virtue to spare her children. Then the daughter to spare the son, and then son for what little food they were allowed. After a matter of weeks, the once proud Sentinel had changed her name… and her children had become bargaining chips in her ever-accelerating quest to sate the wet desires of her needy cunt. Tyrande had seen it all, even as she herself resisted and refused.

A heavy-set grunt poised his spurting, boil-covered penis against the entrance to the young night elf girl's pussy, sliding it in ferociously and causing a bulge to appear in her midsection as the fist-sized prick helmet pounded deep into her tender insides. The child's eyes immediately grew half-lidded and their light seemed to dim as her tongue slid from between her lips to lol at a lunatic angle. "Mother, it's so big!" she cooed, and Raene's ministrations to her own sopping slit only grew more feverish when she saw the size of the fat orcish dick that was pounding away at her daughter's tight pussy, and the way it distended her supple abdomen. The girl shuddered and sprayed a stream of piss all over the floor as the orc began to violate her, splattering her mother's thigh. "Orc dicks are so big!"

The son was lifted up like a doll in front of his mother, a foot-and-a-half-long orc cock with the thickness of Tyrande's arm poised at his tight, tender anus. His tiny night elf dick dribbled a few drops of feeble issue as the green endowment was speared into his tight pubescent ass. Moaning and fingering, Raene leaned forward to suck her son's pathetic dick while the orcs laughed and insulted the kal'dorei race for their worthlessness.

"Yes!" she moaned, sucking his cock and balls into her mouth in between words, able to swallow the whole thing. "You'll never impregnate one of our females, so dump your orc-bitch seed into mommy's mouth! I'll clean it up so it doesn't offend the orcs, my dear...nnngh...mmph… fuck, I can hear that huge dick ripping apart your faggy ass… being an orc's personal bitch is what you were born for!"

"Look at this kal'dorei cunt sucking her own son's worm dick!" bellowed one of the Kil'kron grunts, and there was deep-throated laughter. "The night elves are a sickening race. We have done Azeroth a favor by subjugating them!"

Raene, or Fuckslut as she would henceforth be known, only nodded while slurping at her son's penis. "Yes, we're worthless… use my two children as toilets! Fuck them like cunts… whenever you want…nnnnngh… by the goddess… oh, Elune!" She shuddered to orgasm, spraying wet breath all over her pretty young son's hairless crotch. The huge dicks scissoring in and out of her fuck-addled children were making lewd splurting and schlorping noises as they turned the once-tight holes into stretched, sodden morasses of lumpy sperm. At the same time, her daughter went into a rictus of pleasure, bent at the waist, clearing having an orgasm from the shaft that was plunging deep into her pussy.

Tyrande tried to stay strong in the face of this utter disgrace - her former comrade had been so utterly subjugated by the Kil'kron that it was almost enough to the night elf leader's own indomitable spirit. She closed her eyes, tried to ignore the grunts, the moans, the queefing and cum-farting sounds of the two youths being violated and their mother wantonly sucking the huge, smelly, filth-covered balls of the barbarians responsible. It would be her responsibility to raise her people up from this nightmare. Malfurion had been captured and sealed away. An abjuration against Cenarius prevented his interference - and the lightning quick nature of the invasion meant that reinforcements from the Alliance slow to respond… if they were coming at all. She...

Tyrande bit her bottom lip as she heard the bestial grunt from behind her - a muscled orc leaning his axe against the pit wall and reaching forward to grab her hips, lifting her up to a standing position and bending her forward at the waist, her wrists still shackled and pulled to either side of her body. Her senses, honed to a razor's edge after years of hunting and warfare, could detect his brutish maleness in a dozen different ways. The tang of rank orc-sweat in her nostrils, the thump of his booted feet, the creaking weight of his warrior's frame. The prickle of the hairs on his forearms as they brushed against her thighs. Her stomach churned.

The Kil'kron warrior casually threw her tattered skirt up over her hips, exposing her bare pussy and ass with the sound of flapping of cloth. Tyrande's most intimate places were nestled tightly between the swell of her gorgeous buttocks, deepening gradually to a darker aubergine color around her asshole and plump pussy lips - though any majesty they might have inspired was tempered by the smear of dried orc cum on her skin. Tyrande had become intimately familiar with such issue in the preceding weeks, orc penises being a stark a contrast to what male kal'dorei were packing. Long-lived in the extreme, night elf bodies had long been adapted for survival and longevity rather than crude outward displays of sexual prowess. The fecund orcs, on the other hand, who had reputations for breeding and dying quickly… were more than equipped to the task of making a display of virility for female sexual partners. Only the most dominant orcish males had been allowed to guard her prison, so the smallest orc penis Tyrande had seen had been at least twelve thick, vein-covered, wart-crowned inches. Many were far larger, and as gnarled as the veteran battlemasters who bore them.

Today's assailant had one of the largest and thickest cocks among any of the orc invaders - larger even than the beast that was currently defiling the Raene's son - the unfortunately named Worthless Orcfag. As it fall free of his loose underthings, Tyrande felt the massive, snake-like shaft and heavy ballsack brushing against her thighs. The length hung past her knees, swaying slightly in front of two nuts the size of overripe gourds. Not for the first time, Tyrande had to resist the urge to cringe in disgust. The leathery organ's pisshole, seeming to be nearly the size of her mouth, was leaking a steady discharge of dirty, yellow cum onto the oily ground of her makeshift prison. Hew nose, able to follow any animal even upwind, was filled with the heady aroma of orc semen. She looked back over her shoulder with defiance and hatred, expecting the question she'd been asked every day since the invasion had started.

"Will you take your new name today?" asked the jailor. His fanged, lantern jaw growled out the words in a rumbling bass.

"Never!" hissed Tyrande, and then she felt hands with the sturdiness of oaks grip her wide hips. With a guttural grunt as her only warning, six inches of smelly bicep-thick orc dick plowed into her bowels. Tyrande put her head back and let fly a desperate, purring moan that was almost feral. A lamentation for the loss of her dignity and innocence. Indeed, her inner walls were changing shape, stretching, to accommodate the massive endowments of the Kil'kron grunts. She could feel herself becoming used to the the depraved sex acts that were being performed on her, and ashamed of the way her big ass seemed to be able to absorb untold lengths of orc dick. This quality of sexual malleability seemed to validate every dirty tavern joke and outhouse door carving ever made concerning her noble race, stories of cock-addicted and cum-thirst that were whispered in the Goldshire Inn. For Tyrande, pain had quickly become numbness, and then a titillating feeling of "fullness" that she would never admit provided any pleasure. But it vexed her.

It made her wonder about herself, and her race, in the same way that the breaking of Raene had made her wonder. Yet still believed that the noble kal'dorei were meant for something far greater than what these brutes intended.

In the midst of her rape she was every inch the beautiful, savage creature that the night elves had always been - her mane of green hair flying back and forth around her head, her long eyebrows, whisking slightly as she was bumped forward with every thrust of orc cock, seeming to scissor through the air alongside her prominent ears. Here eyes were wide and defiant as she bit her bottom lip. The bouncing, tidal motion of her breasts and buttocks was punctuated by the orc's low-timbre grunts. Her skirt had been thrown up and her top ripped down, leaving her with a wreath of tattered mooncloth around her trim waist (a waist from which her hips exploded like a burst of Moonfire), and if one looked closely, the slight definition of her abdominal muscles could be seen. Like most night elves, Tyrande was statuesque, with legs that seemed to go on forever, and an inherent athleticism that made her form exquisite to witness during any sex act.

In spite of her qualities both of physical prowess and arcane art, Tyrande could do nothing but stand like a flightless bird, bent at the waist and her wrists shackled and pulled to either side, as she was violated by the wet, rutting thrusts of her captor. The sound of his heavy length plowing her asshole was lewd and suggestive, the juicy splurting and slipping noise of his warty, venous cock sliding against her insides could not be ignored. She grimaced and moaned, making small, despairing exhalations in time with the thrusts, trying to be silent, not wanting to add to the disgusting sexual cacophony in the room.

The bouncing of nubile young kal'dorei butts against cum-soaked orc pelvises. The sucking and slurping of a defiled matron worshiping the rapists of her own children, and the wet fleshiness of Tyrande's asshole being fucked. The low and sadistic laughs of the assembled Kil'kron guards. Sperm and ball-stink vacuumed into her nostrils in a miasma with every inhalation. Further inches were shoved into her tight, milking asspipe, the bumpy cockhead burrowing into her bowels, sliding with the viscosity of earlier violations and her own unwilling anal secretions. The brutal warrior gripped her tighter and leaned over her, forcing her to her hands and knees. Chains slid on the walls and rattled in their anchors as Tyrande's tender cheek was mashed against the oily floor, her hair falling about her in an emerald flood, her eyes turned toward the incestuous scene happening only a few feet away. She was face down, ass up, her back arched. Her attacker found a new angle and dug his member further into her disgraced, cum-soaked shitpipe, pounding more than a foot of meat into her, stretching her ass with its massive, veiny thickness. Fat balls slapped her clit, sticking momentarily with each thrust before drawing back and leaving gooey bridges of lube and cum.

"Nnn...nnnngh!" came a sound, and Tyrande was astounded and dismayed to discover that it was her own voice. The orc's cock was so fat, so long, so brutally pounding into her bountiful bubble butt, the regal night elf was feeling things she couldn't deny…sordid sensations she couldn't bear to describe or dwell on. She could feel the boils and tumors on the smelly dick scraping her out, the heat of the porridge-like ball chowder that was spurting into her guts. She shuddered to a sickening climax as the Kil'kron guard threw back his head and howled, voiding his ballsack into her innards with a series of dick-farting noises that were audible even from within her ravaged shitpipe. Tyrande could only bite her bottom lip and shake as what felt like a waterskin full of molten sludge was dumped into her. And when her partner withdrew and wiped his leaking dick between her thick asscheeks, she could scarcely move in the aftershocks of her soul-crushing anal orgasm.

"Long-eared cunt," spat the Kil'kron, pulling up his breeches. "You will take your new name."

"No," said Tyrande, her voice still the cultured melody of a diplomat. But she did not make eye fierce eye contact, not this time. She only lay on her face, sides aspirating, plump buttocks bursting from above her thighs in overinflated curves.

"This slut has the best ass in Kalimdor! No wonder she's their queen! Queen of the sluts!" There was derisive laughter, and another orc stepped behind her. There were three or four of them, and those that had chosen to not to partake in fucking Raene's children would do what they wanted with her. Another huge dick slid into Tyrande's ass as she moaned, closing her eyes against the image of a former Sentinel commander sucking on the tongues of her rape-addled son and daughter, but unable to shut out the sounds of her own cock-blasted hole burbling around a new length of orc cock, nor the grotesque invitation from Raene that her coltish, smooth, hairless son bend over so she could suck the orc cum from his young ass, spreading his slender little bubble-butt wide for the privilege of sealing her lips tight over his pucker.

They all had her, in the end - a line of five wide-shouldered and artless grunts, burying their heavy cocks into Tyrande for nearly ten minutes each, not stopping until they forced her to shake, to moan through pursed and bitten lips, to lend her cultured voice to animalistic cries of passion. Each one of them drove their endowments as far into her as they could before releasing their ropey, stinking seed, leaving her formerly-taut belly swollen, leaving her laying and shivering in a puddle of sweat and sperm while "Fuckslut", the former Raene Wolfrunner, ate on hands and knees with her two children, the three of them surrounding an iron bowl that was filled to the brim with rancid orc semen and lapping like dogs.

"Nnngh… it smells like shit!" moaned Raene, before kissing her daughter and snowballing a lumpy yellow mouthful to her like a mother bird feeding a chick.

It was all they would eat, all they would be given. They had, after all, taken their new names.

"I… will not…" Tyrande whispered, and staggered to her knees. Her ass was burning… it felt like it would never be the same again. Every day her violations seemed deeper, wider, more intense. Her limbs were like rubber. And yet, she tried to summon some last shred of dignity. For her race, the kal'dorei - keepers of Azeroth's fate since time immemorial. A race ancient long before the Alliance of Lordaeron, when Humans but the infants of the Titan's design.

"We are… more… than this…" she stammered, getting to her knees, trying to rise to her feet, despite her shackles. "We have… a quality, a purpose, beyond the flesh." Her voice had regained some of its austere and regal quality as she gathered herself, an aura of sorts undiminished by her shackles or the defilement of her body. Tyrande's eyes seemed to pulse with renewed energy as she gained her balance.

"Silence, elfcunt," growled one of the larger males. He had been the last to fuck her, and the most well-endowed. "You know the price for your escape. Only your submission will bring you back to your people. Your words are hollow!" His massive fists clenched and unclenched on the ends of wrists that seemed as thick as logs.

Tyrande took a step away from the wall.

"W-we have withstood the Legion, the very sundering of the world. Through every dark time in Azeroth's history, the kal'dorei have been indomitable. We gave our immortality, we gave our blood." She spared a glance to the side, where the three other night elves, broken and lithe-bodied, were lapping at a cistern of steaming orc cum like worthless hogs, sucking down every last rotten drop with tongues that were submissive and thirsty. The smooth and enticing young daughter, who would now only give her name as 'Dumb Twat', was moaning and fingering herself while gulping the chowdery filth. Orc pubes and lumps of smegma garnished every mouthful with further indignity. Tyrande curled her lip at the disgrace.

"We are not what you believe," she managed, defiantly, taking one more step forward. "We are a dignified people, filled with the Light of Elune. Our minds can never be…"

She hesitated. Her belly gurgled audibly, and the statuesque night elf staggered a little, her emerald hair swishing about her shoulders… but kept her balance.

"Our minds can never be twisted into slavery… we are m-more than just… than just…"

Tyrande gulped as her innards roiled and churned. No, not now! She was showing her defiance, making the orcs believe in the indomitable will of her people!

"What's wrong, elfcunt?" taunted one orc, crossing his arms. "You were saying something about dignity?"

Tyrande staggered again, her belly and bowels gurgling loudly. She used every ounce of her strength to try to stay the physical reactions happening inside her… but she was so used, so numb…her words began to come in strained bursts.

"We… are not just… sex… nnngh… slaves… nnnngh… but a… proud... race… deserving of… resp… UGH!"

PBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTHTHT!

It was a sound to which perhaps no onomatopoeia could do justice. In the midst of her last grasp to declare to her captors that the night elves more than fodder for rape fantasies and orc harems, to prove their females were as scholarly and brave as they were nubile and attractive… Tyrande's cum-packed bowels let go, her much-fucked anus unable to contain the huge amount of orc semen that had been pumped into her intestines. A loud, splattery cum fart erupted from between her legs, painting her thighs and the floor with a flood of orcish issue. Tyrande then fell to her knees, her manacles rattling down with her, and then to all fours. Her eyes were wide with shock and shame.

"N-no!"

But her body would not listen. The orcs rumbled with laughter as a second, lengthier explosion of second-hand jizz exploded from the night elf huntress' asshole, sounding like Azeroth's wettest and most humiliating case of diarrhea for what must have been thirty seconds. The filthy sperm did not drip but erupted from Tyrande's butt in a solid, gooey fountain, piling on the floor behind her in irregular, coagulated lumps.

"Ha! The leader of the kal'dorei is nothing more than a cum-farting slut!" laughed one orc, his braided beard swaying in time with the barks of mirth issuing from his jaw. "I knew her talk of anything else was nothing but lies!"

"Look at the size of her fat ass!" growled another, and the laughter resumed. "I bet she shits like a gronn!"

For her part, Tyrande managed to finish the word "respect" before an orgasm ripped through her loins, causing every muscle to tense and the orcish cum in her big bubble butt to spray out with even more force. She collapsed onto her front, back arched and thighs up, tongue lolling out of her mouth, giving the orcs a great view of the curve of her buttocks. Sordid sperm-farts continued to erupt from her shithole as she voided every drop of spew inside her… the puffy ring of her anus pushing outward and dilating to squeeze out the last few lumpy, yellow semen deposits. When her undercarriage and thick buttocks began to be kneaded by the hands of the other kal'dorei prisoners, she was hardly aware of it - only able to offer feeble moans of protest at first, which then turned to unwilling moans of pleasure as the talented, submissive tongues of two gorgeous night elf children slid into her puffy butthole to tangle together inside. "Fuckslut" soon joined her ass-licking progeny, and the three mind-broken kal'dorei slaves buried their tongues in Tyrande's cum-sputtering pucker with mewling, hungry slurping noises.

"N-no… d-don't…" was all Tyrande could say. But her voice was lost in a chorus of crass orcish hollars and hoots, and the disgraced matron was left to ponder the sad question of whether this was all her race was destined to be - the cruel sexual joke of their conquerors… a race of nubile and athletic slaves for sadistic masters. She never could have believed it, never could have considered it. Had dismissed the bawdy jokes and rumors about kal'dorei sexual practices as the crude result of less enlightened minds. And yet… there she was, having her thick ass eaten expertly by a willing family of her Darnassian kin.

"Will my butt ever be this big, mother?" asked the daughter of the trio, licking around the buttock-bordered rim of Tyrande's amazing shithole. "I hope so! I want to get fucked up the ass by lots of big orc cocks!"

More low-pitched laughter flooded the room, but it stopped suddenly when a higher voice rang out, authoritative and sharp, but unmistakably female.

"Anar'alah belore! She was not to be harmed, by the order of Kil'gen!" All activity ceased at the new arrival, even the desperate licking of Tyrande's anus, and so she craned her neck to the side and was able to catch a glimpse. It was a sin'dorei, looking severe and disapproving in her full battle regalia, complete with a Sun Crest tabard and waistcloth slit high on the sides to reveal bountiful, compact legs and thigh-high leg braces with ornate sollerets. Sun-burnished blonde hair spilled down the shoulders of this warrior woman, who had the countenance of a general despite her petite frame. Her eyes seemed to thrum with power as she walked forward - a blood knight who seemed to brook no disrespect from any of the orcs. To Tyrande, it was clear this blood elf woman was of higher station than her jailors.

"We did not harm her, Dawnstar. We only did what we were asked," protested one of the orcs, sounding a bit offended to have to explain himself to a much smaller warrior, and female at that.

"I'll be the judge of that, oaf. Stand aside!" And so the blood elf stepped down the rough-hewn steps and into the pit, sending the kal'dorei children scattering before her aura. They cowered at their mother's heavy bosom and looked on with eyes filled with dazed awe. Dawnstar squatted next to the prone Tyrande, looking down on her with a mixture of pity and distaste. "I hoped to face you one day, Whisperwind," she said, her voice like smooth razor glass. "But not like this. A warrior like you deserves a different fate, on the battlefield." In squatting, split-legged, Dawnstar revealed quite a view of her shapely thighs and the delta between her legs that continued to be hidden by the waistcloth that obscured front and back but displayed every detail in a side-view. The orcs were getting an eyeful, but there were no catcalls this time. The intimation was clear - this woman was not to be trifled with.

"Get up," Dawnstar said at last, rising herself and shaking her blonde hair about her shoulders, her green eyes blazing like felfire. "Today, Tyrande Whisperwind, you shall see your people again."

Tyrande croaked out a response from her exhausted throat. "My… people. T-truly? How many... dead? How many… captured? The Priestesses, are they-"

Dawnstar held up a hand, and her face was unmoving. "There have been many changes in Darnassus these last weeks. The lord Kil'gen requests that I provide you a... 'tour'... of the new state of Teldrassil." She crossed her arms. "You will know the truth of it, Whisperwind. The new truth of your people. For better or for worse, all of your questions will be answered."

Shaking and bracing arms that felt tenuous as autumn leaves, Tyrande began to rise.

***

Even before Tyrande trudged from the Temple of the Moon, she could tell something was amiss with her homeland. Dawnstar's custody was more forgiving than that of her rapist orc jailors, but precautions had still been taken - a pair of manacles clasped tight at the wrists, plus an arcane ward cast by the blonde sin'dorei bellatrix herself, an abjuration that Tyrande could feel actively disrupting any magic she might have called upon. Yet, these hindrances were of far secondary lament to what Tyrande sensed as she approached the temple entrance.

There was something about the air. Her nose was as keen as ever, the huntress senses that had served her for millennia unscathed by the procession of smegma-loaded orc cocks she'd been made to service day after day, and as a result she was sure the atmosphere of Darnassus had changed. It reminded her, in the moments before her emergence from the Temple, of her infrequent visits to Ironforge or the industrial quarters of Stormwind. The air was oily and seemed to hint at the churning of bellows and the burning of coal braziers. It was laced with the sweet and forbidden tang of smoked meat, and pregnant with the musk of wolves and worse. It was not like Teldrassil at all.

Dawnstar moved forward implacably, a half-step behind and to the side of Tyrande, keeping them at a brisk pace. She was a head shorter than the disgraced night elf but no less a perfect form with her flawless thighs showing enticingly in her slit-side waistcloth and tabard. Armored legguards as ornate and flattering as any pair of boudoir thigh-highs completed her ensemble, and the sound of their footfalls told the story of the current power dynamic between the two women. For Dawnstar, the authoritative metallic clatter of sollerets. For Tyrande, the meek patter of bare feet. As they approached the temple's arched exit, the blood elf spoke for the first time since retrieving Tyrande from her prison. "Do not whimper or cry out as you emerge," she advised, her voice almost conspiratorial, one warrior to another. "It would only disgrace your people even further."

But as they stepped out into Darnassus proper, Tyrande was unable to follow the advice. A despairing moan escaped her lips, and she fell to her knees in the tatters of her cum-yellowed mooncloth dress, her mouth open in shock, her breasts bouncing with the impact of her descent and her featureless eyes wide and glistening with welling tears.

It was an obscenity.

The surface of Teldrassil had been torn up, and ribbons of dirty smoke swirled in the same eddies that had once carried leaves. The lush greenery had taken on a brownish tint where it hadn't receded completely. Shallow, oiled-dirt trenches criss-crossed the landscape like veins, holding everything from supplies, to fortifications, to offal and refuse that had been wastefully left by invaders who cared little for the history or aesthetics of their occupied territory. Dark iron brackets had been drilled into the earth for hitching posts, zeppelin tethers, and the foundations of temporary dwellings - ramshackle huts and barracks of an orcish and goblin sensibility. With the awareness of a practiced huntress, Tyrande took it all in - little hints about the fate of her people that others might have missed. The way the fetid orc peons were laying strips of venison over their cookfires - but the way the cuts fell on their spits made it clear the meat had come from no stag. It was dryad meat, the foulest of indulgences. Furthermore, the sun was wrong, as if glaring down on Teldrassil through a haze of pollution. Many kal'dorei ruins had been pulverized or defaced. Kneebound, Tyrande's calves were already powdered white from crumbled marble shaken loose from the Temple entrance.

The severity and scope of the changes were startling. It had been no more than a week and a half since Tyrande's imprisonment in the Temple, and yet Darnassus looked like it had been occupied for years. The waters in front of the Temple were a sickly brown, with oil patches coruscating their rainbow gleams where fish had once froliced. Venture Company siphons and derricks dotted the lake every hundred meters. Gazing across the lake, it seemed to Tyrande that the green-roofed buildings of the Craftsman's Terrace had been razed and replaced with a vast open space - and the Tradesman's Terrace, just to the east, was bustling with a sort of commerce that no kal'dorei would ever have permitted - trudging processions of night elf slaves. It was in this direction that Dawnstar began to lead Tyrande, and in spite of her disgust, Tyrande rose and followed. She feared what depravities might come, but for the sake of her people she could not, would not, look away.

The path east was laden with the debaucheries that might have been expected considering Tyrande's experiences in the Temple of the Moon. Multiple priestesses of Elune, a number of them heavily pregnant, were surrounded by groups of Kil'kron grunts. The orcs saw no problem, it seemed, with fucking the women in public, and in full view of the shackled lines of kal'dorei adult males. Most of the night elf men hung their heads and did not glance in the direction of the affrontery, but the sounds of the assaults were carried in the air - wet, liquid sounds that could not be confused for anything else.

Some of the grunts crowed at the slaves as they passed, stroking their cocks over the prone females in taunting gestures of dominance. "Is this your lifemate? Your daughter?" one brute asked, rubbing his cum-bubbling pisshole on the flawless cheek of the panting woman and leaving a slimy weal of jizz. "You can be proud that she's going to give birth to a warrior!" He laughed and then hauled his prey by the hair, pressing her face between the gulf of his powerful buttocks. "Get your tongue up my ass, bitch - show your males how much you love the taste of my shit!"

The pregnant priestess complied as the trudging slaves moved past, burying her face in the swarthy grunt's asscrack and swabbing desperately at his coarse turd-cutter with her agile tongue, moaning like a slut the entire. "Mmmph… your ass tastes so good! I'd rather suck orc ass every day than ever kiss a kal'dorei again!" Her words were slightly muffled by the muscled cheeks framing her pretty head, but the message was clear. Her huge tits knocked against the grunt's thighs and her pregnant belly hung lewdly as she spread her captor with two desperate hands and went to work, making vital sucking and licking sounds. It wasn't long before a second orc was hauling the rutting priestess' hips into position to receive his foot-long, wart-encrusted dick in her shithole - which from the sloppy look of things, had already been the site of drillings that would have made Venture Company prospectors envious.

Dawnstar did not let her eyes dwell on the display, though she narrated for Tyrande circumstances that hardly needed an explanation.

"Your kal'dorei men are being put to use as a labor force, in whatever capacity the Kil'kron peons are too stupid to serve. We have labor camps in Shadowglen and the Oracle Glade, where they are most cooperative in assisting our arcanists in drawing the latent ley power of this land." She hesitated, then continued in a voice that hinted at shame. "Your women and children, well…"

There was a low-pitched growl as one of the grunts hilted his thick penis in a different priestess pussy, not ten feet from the passing Tyrande. His balls twitched as if spasming, firing untold ropes of his virile seed into her dripping fuckbox while she writhed in doggy-style position, her back arched and ass and pussy exposed, her belly swollen with child and pressed against the ground behind her large, milk-leaking breasts. A lolling tongue completed the disgraced night elf's blank expression. She was obviously having an orgasm from her mistreatment, and cried out in the throes of fuck-lust: "Yes, fill me with your filthy seed! Penetrate my womb and cum all over my unborn daughter's worthless face!" The hulking Kil'kron laughed and spat on her. One produced his heavy, flaccid dick and began to piss unceremoniously on the top of her head while the others slapped her thick ass, making the twin butt-globes bounce under their sheen of sweat and orc wad.

"...the women, girls, and boys yet too young to have the bodies for labor… they are being put to use," Dawnstar finished. She paused with Tyrande in front of a line of stocks, where kal'dorei females of all hair colors, some with facial runes and some without, matrons and young girls alike, were locked tightly by the head and arms, bent at the waist. Dozens of stocks had been placed in a row along the path to the Terrace, and all were occupied by females, though many were had their faces obscured by pairs of sagging, pimply orc peon buttocks, in the midst of thrusting. The wet, glottal sounds of irrumatio, mixed with the trudge of the downcast slave trains, formed a rhythm of the obscene.

"Zug zug! Me go face!" proclaimed one bald and non-too-bright orc peon, unbuckling his britches and slamming his oblong, vein-encrusted cock into the mouth of a captive night elf young girl, pumping away. The light of intelligence was nearly gone from the eyes of the formerly vivacious female, and her hands hung limply in the stocks as her throat was used. Though the peon cocks were smaller than those of the grunts, they were still sturdy and usually filthy from the day's woodcutting. Nonetheless, her thighs were slick with wetness from her hairless pussy, betraying the forbidden pleasure the lost youth was taking in her own defilement. Tyrande's trained eyes saw every detail. The way the ground below the mouth of each captive female was wet with sperm. The way strands hung from their chins. The way their gorgeous features were plastered in masks of smelly, yellow cum and dotted with wiry orc pubic hairs. The way bubbles of lumpy jizz aspirated from some of their noses with each sordid breath.

Suddenly a slave tried to break from the line, tugging along a few of his fellows - a bearded, blue-haired kal'dorei with a muscled form and his hair braided in long twin ropes that fell about his wide shoulders. Immediately his Kil'kron slavemasters responded, pushing him back into line, but he would not be stayed, and yelled over their spiked shoulders.

"Lethana! Lethana, you must escape!" His voice was hoarse, but he seemed to have his senses.

One of the currently unused captives, a just-matured girl with the same azure hair flowing down in wild tresses not unlike Tyrande's, suddenly seemed to awaken from her cum-stupor and match eyes with the renegade slave. "F-father?" her voice warbled, as if she was unsure, struggling to recognize. Beneath the glaze of cum and her own juices, she had an amazing body, generous breasts that were larger than Tyrande's own, and an athletic, bouncy ass that jutted up and out from her bend-over position.

"Lethana!" He called again, and Tyrande wanted to tell him it was useless, he would be beaten and put back into line with nothing gained but the ire of his captors - but she couldn't bring herself to act. Shortly, an orc knocked him down with the flat of an axe, taking the wind from his sails. Meanwhile, a tall, fat, slovenly orc unfastened his leather leggings in front of the girl, Lethana, and presented a cock that was at least 10 inches long and as thick as a dryad's neck. Two inches of heavy foreskin hung like detritus off of the fist-sized knob, completely covering the head and more. Lethana's shuddered and her tongue emerged from her mouth.

"Nnngh… it smells like a carcass that's been left in the sun!" moaned the girl, her voice hazy and drugged, as the guards forced her father to watch. Wetness trickled down her taut thighs as she extended her tongue further to tickle the wrapped cocktip.

"I haven't bathed in a month," explained the fat orc, his heavy balls hanging nearly to his knees. His scrotum was leathery, one nut larger than the other, and pockmarked with boils and stray hairs. Flies buzzed around his thick, smelly cock and he pressed forward so that Lethana could slide her tongue into the musky, steaming depths of his foreskin, licking around the huge prick helmet and the lewd and stretchy hammock of excess tissue, her agile tongue eventually gathering a pile of smegma that she happily displayed on her tongue before pulling into her mouth.

"Mmm! I love the taste of your dick cheese, it's so thick and rich - so lumpy I have to chew it." Her young throat worked lewdly as she swallowed, then displayed her empty mouth. Her face was stamped with a vile sort of euphoria, and the emotion in her voice grew with an affectation that the sight of her father had not been able to produce… but that servicing orc cock apparently could. "Ahhhh! F-fuck, I get so wet from the stink of orc cocks!"

Though held to the ground, the male kal'dorei was able to cry out in dismay. "Lethanaaaaaaaa!" But again, she met his eyes while the fat orc lazily fisted his dick just inches from her cum-encrusted face.

"Leave me alone, father," she rebuked him, her voice a licentious, whorish prowl. "I'm going to live the rest of my life consuming nothing but orc cum and piss... it makes me feel SO good! Our race is finished…the least I can do is be the best toilet I can." Turning to her fat assailant with a sickly, loving expression, she extended her tongue.

"Please, can I suck the filth off of your balls, too?" she asked in a submissive voice. "They're so big, and your dick makes my father look like such a faggot by comparison." Her father, hearing this, was only able to get out a strained sob before he was axe-butted to the nape of the neck and a sack thrown over his head by the slavers, pulling him back into line. He mercifully did not get to see the fat orc slap Lethana, tell the 'dumb bitch' to 'shut her cumdump mouth' and, and drive his massive, filth-encrusted cock deep enough into her throat to tickle her nose with his pubes and distend her windpipe. She was barely conscious 30 seconds later when he pried her eye wide, pressed his leaking pisshole against her eyeball, and unloaded with what seemed like a pint of lumpy, worm-like yellow ball-broth.

Blinded as the nubile young kal'dorei then was, the "Nnngh… please… skull-fuck me to death…" was a plea that came after the fat bastard was already long gone and she was having a belated orgasm at being roughly used.

The other captives were in various other states of rut, and previous experience with Raene Windrunner had shown Tyrande that there was sorcery or alchemy at work - no amount of convincing could pry the women from the sexual nightmare into which they'd been drawn. No, it would take a larger and more complete measure, one that she would have to formulate if there were to be any hope for her people. To understand more, she needed to know more, and dared to ask a question.

"H-how can these some of these women - I recognize their faces - how can they be with child? With child, in no more than ten days? "

Dawnstar, who seemed hesitant to watch the more depraved actions, raised an eyebrow and permitted herself a smile as they continued to walk toward the Tradesman's Terrace. "Perceptive. I thought you would ask, Whisperwind. Had hoped you would ask, instead of wasting my time with weeping and worry-"

"And Teldrassil - too much excavation, too much defilement for a week. Machinery raised in the lake so quickly-"

"You are right. And the answer to your question is as simple as understanding the nature of the force that has conquered you. While we all move under the banner of Kil'gen of the Kil'kron, outcast from Garrosh's horde, we all have different goals in taking Teldrassil." Dawnstar's mood had picked up - this was something she was interested in talking about. Any dishonor she felt at being part of the rape of the kal'dorei was not present in her feelings about the conquest itself.

"Are you not, too, a remnant of Garrosh's horde?" asked Tyrande, and Dawnstar shook her head, pushing Tyrande forward, aggressively, past a line of peons who were tearing into one of Teldrassil's ancient trees with their axes. It was no less an obscenity than the rape of the priestesses. Some of them, fresh from the stocks, had forgotten to tuck their dicks back into their pants.

"We were followers of Prince Kael'thas - but betrayed by our leadership, who threw down their arms to become the Scryers." Dawnstar spat out the words. "By the time we were to rejoin our main force, the tide of war had turned against the prince - and so we escaped back through the portal with his defeat and became vagabonds, until such time as we could reclaim our honor." She said the last word with no trace of irony.

Tyrande frowned. "You've come to take Teldrassil's arcane energies," she stated, not a question. If they had been followers of Kael'thas, their motivation was clear.

Dawnstar nodded. "The Venture Company are here for the physical resources. The Kil'kron for the glory. And we for the untold wells of magic in this place. But we have one more ally, Whisperwind, an ally that solves the problem of time - our ability to conduct this operation before Alliance forces can be mustered."

A flicker of realization went off in Tyrande's mind. If what she suspected were true, it would be a huge problem indeed. "No member of the Bronze Dragonflight would ever participate in such a-"

Dawnstar shoved Tyrande again. They were nearing the Tradesman's Terrace now, the lines of slaves, broken before, were becoming constant. Night elf women, boys, and girls were caged by the side of the road in near or complete undress, with goblin touts advertising prices in coin. Tyrande saw recognition in their faces as she moved past, but there were no outbursts, no greetings for her. Either they were too broken to cry her name, or they knew that such activity would bring reprisals.

"The Bronze are dawdlers and meddlers, happy to 'fix' history but not to change it. No, Whisperwind, it is the Infinite Dragonflight that aids us. They bend the timestream as you draw back the string on a bow. Because of their influence, each month that passes on Teldrassil is but a dusk and dawn to the outside. The Alliance has barely started to mobilize in the ten-day since the assault - but we've been here almost a year!" Dawnstar threw back her head and laughed in her haughty sin'dorei way.

They had arrived at the Tradesman's Terrace while Tyrande pondered this revelation. Where once had stood various shops and lodges, a bustling micro-economy, there was now a dirty, industrial conglomeration of orcs, goblins, and captive night elves. Dark iron platforms had replaced the simple architecture, along with cages, stocks, and what looked to be a gallows. The engines of Venture Company slave wagons spewed plumes of exhaust into the air. Kil'kron kiosks sold the pelts, antlers, and bones of Darnassian fauna in a grotesque trade. There were elixirs made from ground timberlings. Furbolg pelts from the overrun Gnarlpine hold. And most of all, slaves. Everywhere, slaves.

The males were being sold in lots, mostly to enterprising goblins, but the greatest crowds were reserved for the sale of the night elf females. One such transaction was being held on a dark iron platform as Tyrande arrived - a goblin auctioneer, cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth at a jackstraw angle, was standing next to two collared and shackled kal'dorei woman of similar jade hair color and build - obviously a mother and daughter. The mother was thicker and taller, her hair in a long single braid, the daughter more modest in bust and thigh. They were both naked and wore identical blank expressions.

"This lot, seperate or together' - a mother and daughter, of the Everstride family of Aldrassil! So yous out 'der who have had a bruddah in arms killed by an Everstride, here's your chance for revenge. Now, they'll take whatever name you want!" The goblin auctioneer's lecherous and cutting voice was distinct in its way - the words came out mutha, dawta, bruddah, and whatevah. "Couple'a pretty fresh ones here, if ya feel like destroyin' something new and spiffy. But don't take it from me, let's hear from Mommy Everstride. Make the case we shouldn't just throw you in the garbage, sweetheart."

The auctioneer nudged the mother forward, naked and chained, as the crowd of assembled orcs and goblins jeered. There were a few sin'dorei present as well, all of them male - but the goblin and orc females apparently saw little problem with participating in the utter subjugation of their gender, as long as it wasn't their race in the line of fire. In fact, the orc females seemed to be doing a brisk business in adorable underage kal'dorei boys at an adjacent platform, extolling in their gruff voices the virtue of each downy-cheeked, bubble-butted, smooth, coltish, athletic, pert-lipped youth. Cute boys with skill at eating orc pussy and ass were especially valued… and if one of the female grunts wanted to strap it on and enjoy the ass-ravaged moans of the pubescent scamps in their care, who was going to complain? Certainly not the mothers of the boys, who would be 'rewarded' for siring good cunt-eaters and faggot cumdumps by being permitted to fuck the biggest and most prestigious orc males. This might in turn lead to a life as a concubine on a pillow of furs, rather than a communal cumdump in stocks and manacles.

In front of the hostile crowd with her hands bound behind her back and her bare tits and pussy exposed for the jeering, green-skinned masses, the Everstride matron seemed to be having trouble advocating for herself. She didn't seem addled and cock-thirsty like the kal'dorei that Tyrande had passed on the path, and that made the situation terrifying in a different way - her very awareness of her humiliation, and that of her daughter, cut to the bone from a fresh angle.

"I…" she started, but her voice was immediately drowned out by gravelly catcalls from the assembled Kil'kron grunts, some of whom had fresh slaves eagerly lapping at the massive, olive-colored lengths of cock they'd allowed to hang free. "I am a… a skilled huntress," finished Everstride, enunciating enough to be heard over the din. "I can pierce a boar's eye at 100 yard-"

"How much dick can you suck?" bellowed an orcish voice, and there was laughter. "Your hands won't be handling a bow again, you stupid twat!"

The night elf woman swallowed and continued in spite of the abuse, gesturing toward the nubile young girl standing next to her, her obvious kin, who had her eyes cast down to the ground. "M-my daughter is… is a skilled seamstress and scribe… a prodigy in m-music and the art of-"

"Who fucking gives a shit?!" A deep bass voice roared, and there was a babble of general agreement. "I'll choke the dumb bitch with my cock until she doesn't know the difference between a lute and a piano!" More voices joined the din.

"Who can take more dick, you or your slut daughter?"

"Their tits are perky, but I like a little more weight on 'em."

"Fuck it, throw these whores in the trash!"

"She hasn't even been broken yet, I don't have the time to waste on worthless slaves."

"I wouldn't pay a copper to jerk off on her dead body if I found it in the ditch that the peons shit in!"

The auctioneer held up his hands for relative silence as the night elves stood afraid and confused. "No bids?" he tried to confirm, looking at the assembled crowd. "Come on, think of it as a fixer-upper! Fresh ones, Professor Rattlecage ain't even touched 'em!" This further tout produced a murmur of conversation but no response, and so the auctioneer shrugged and tapped ash from his stogie, turning his attention to the kal'dorei mother and daughter and gave them the bad news.

"Sorry, sweetheart, looks like it's stable duty for you and your kid!"

"S-stable duty?" The Everstride woman looked alarmed and uncomprehending. It seemed that she and her daughter, like Tyrande, had been kept in the dark, outside of the Infinite Dragonflight's time field.

"Yep!" the auctioneer replied. "Chained to the ground servicing the wargs, boars and warhorses until your body breaks and we give you the ol' heave-ho into the nearest latrine."

The expressions of the two bound females exploded with fright. "W-wait!" cried the mother. "I…I'll suck your cocks!" She dropped to her knees at the edge of the platform, addressing the crowd in a desperate babble. "I'll sleep with your cock in my mouth! Just, my daughter, please - spare her." The crowd exploded with enthusiasm.

"I'll pay a couple gold just to watch this stupid piece of shit bargain for her daughter's well-being," commented one hulking orc merchant, holding out his marker. Others quickly topped his bid while the desperate matron collapsed onto all fours on stage and arched her back to show everyone present her bare pussy.

"You can breed me," she moaned, wiggling her ass and causing her buttocks to clap while looking back over her shoulder and balancing on her manacled hands. "Or just fuck up my pussy! Rip apart my womb with your huge dick until I can never have another child and the only thing I'm good for is being your rape toilet! Just... please, allow my daughter some mercy."

"200 gold for the two of them, from the gentleman with the big pauldrons, on the right," called out the auctioneer, recognizing a bid. "And… we have 250. 300 for the two of them. Can I get 400?"

The daughter was aghast and wide-eyed at the proceedings, nibbling her lower lip in a cute gesture of nerves, her lithe and athletic body in full display only a few feet behind her mother, who was pulling apart her bubble butt to give every orc present a good view of her pussy and asshole. "M-mother! You… you don't have to…"

"Pound my asshole until I shit nothing but your thick cum!" mewled the elder Everstride, ignoring her daughter. "You can beat me, split my lips, swell my eyes shut, bruise my body… I'll still happily drink your piss!" Her eyes were wet with tears while the words flew from her throat, the desperate cries of a woman giving up all of herself to save the last thing she valued. This debauched state only spurred the crowd on even more, and the bidding continued to climb. It was a full minute before the blubbering, weeping woman was finally sold and pushed off the platform to her new master, a brutal-looking Kil'kron grunt who immediately punched her in the face and began to rape her in the dirt while her daughter was forced to watch, pouring a foot and a half of rigid cock into her pussy with no restraint or mercy.

"Z-sssank youhhh…" the woman warbled through her crooked, bleeding nose and eyes that were rapidly swelling shut. "Th-thank you…"

Tyrande, too, was forced to watch - and when the mother Everstride began to cum on the 18 inches of orc cock that was destroying her womb and fertility for all time, pulverizing her ovaries like acorns popping in a fire and making a cock-shaped bulge appear in her midsection as it displaced her guts, Tyrande could only observe with dull surprise. Turning her head away, she looked to Dawnstar, who seemed also to be having trouble observing impartially.

"A world of rape, disgrace and slavery… is this what Kael'thas would have wanted, blood knight?" asked Tyrande, her eyes downcast. "Does this satisfy your honor, and your heart, to show me this? Are you this callous and vengeful, to make us all suffer this way?"

At first Dawnstar said nothing, the flaxen gold of her hair obscuring her expression. Finally, and with the fleshy slapping sounds of coitus in the air, she responded. "It is by Kil'kron's order that I show you this. I do this for my people, Whisperwind. Our thirst for magic."

"You disgrace yourself, to sink this low."

"This is not what was promised. But it is too far gone, now. The glammer of Teldrassil will feed the sin'dorei for a thousand generations." It was a bold proclamation, but Dawnstar still refused to make eye contact. Tyrande could sense some sort of hesitation and regret in the outwardly cold woman, only a small spark, perhaps, but like any seed it could grow.

"Another happy transaction!" called out the auctioneer. "I'll tell you what, this is a hell of a lot better than the black market! Now, I hope you saved your money, because we've got a special item for sale - a name of some repute! She took a lot of doing to break, ladies and gents, but she's here now and she'd make a perfect fit for your harem, Pleasure Palace, or maybe a group gathering with you and your military unit, if that's your thing! Now, accompanied by a special detachment of our Grimtotem allies, our next item!

In spite of the conversation between her and Dawnstar, Tyrande couldn't help but bring her attention to the platform, considering the auctioneer's overblown introduction. What had he meant by "a name of some repute"? As she watched, her height allowing her a good view over a crowd mostly composed of stockier, shorter races, a dark iron cage was brought to the stage by a contingent of massive Grimtotem warriors, all of them male, their huge tauren frames a deep black and indicative of their heritage. The bars of the cage obscured the night elf inside, but there was no doubt she was female, her hair long and flowing, a deep and somehow familiar blue...

Tyrande's eyes went wide with horror and recognition as they opened the cage and pulled the captive out onto the stage using a chain leash and collar.

"S-Shandris!"

The name leaving her astounded mouth felt familiar, and for good reason. The night elf that Tyrande saw on the platform was indeed her old and dear friend - a companion she'd known since the girl was a child. Shandris had stood by her through the War of the Ancients and had grown to become a huntress of surpassing quality - perhaps the greatest that Azeroth had ever seen with an arrow nocked. She - Shandris - had been a confidant to Tyrande, though all the years of separation from Malfurion, and prior to that, had been a sort of understudy in the arts of healing.

Normally, being reunited with a friend she had thought dead would have overjoyed Tyrande, overtaxed emotionally as she was with the horrors of the Kil'Kron occupation. On this occasion, though, her face instead contorted into a look of astonishment and disbelief.

Shandris had been… changed.

The once-proud night elf huntress was lounging in a seductive doggystyle position, her face a mask of lust and cock-thirst showing no hint of her former personality. Steel plates had been sunk into the platform and manacles welded to them - these were quickly locked around her wristss, keeping Shandris' palms flat. A third such plate provided an anchor for her collar, leashing Shandris like an animal to the realm's most tawdry hitching post. Like most female night elves, her body was a study in long and lustrous predatory curves, the perfect balance between athletic and voluptuous, but shackled and collared, totally naked, the former huntress looked more like prey. Her countenance was not all that had changed - her breasts had been enlarged fourfold by some sort of alchemy, hanging pendulous and enormous from her chest all the way to the floor, while they lay like sacks of bulbous flesh, the thick nipples pierced by thick iron rings that also had chains attached. These were further anchored to the stage by Grimtotem bodyguards, one tug of the chain causing the puffy areolas to distend and stretch out. Shandris mewled like a bitch in heat at the slightest touch, and a milky fluid began to leak from her nipples.

Tyrande was barely aware that the auctioneer was speaking again.

"This famous specimen, Shandris Feathermoon, is now offered for sale by-"

"I don't answer to that name anymore!" cried Shandris, and Tyrande saw with growing horror that the occupation forces had marked her face and body with lewd runes, depicting ejaculating orcish dicks along with the phrases "Night Elf Cumdump", "Rape My Pussy", "Free Toilet" and "Dumb Whore" in the common tongue.

"My name is 'Stupid Cunt' now," she continued. Shandris' face was a mixture of euphoria and emptiness that caused Tyrande's heart to sink. The prone huntress bounced her thick, bubble-like ass at crowd, looking back over her shoulder for a moment. "Nnngh, I bet you all have such big cocks," she mewled, her lips, and then her eyes met Tyrande's for a brief moment - as much as any two night elves could meet eyes, anyhow, lacking irises. The lack of recognition in them shocking. "If you buy me, I'll be the best breeding bitch you ever saw! Miss Rattlecage made me special!"

Shandris turned and moved to a position on her back, her legs spread lewdly and the chains pulling her breasts into taut conical shapes at either side of her chest, their size an obscenity when compared to her otherwise tight body. Her pussy had been pierced with three thick iron rings through her labia and a spike through her clit, and she spread herself to show the audience her hole. What might have been a formerly tight pussy had been turned into a well-fucked, soaking wet chasm that was obviously craving for more dick and leaking juices down over the elf-maiden's asshole.

"Take a look at my womb, everyone," Shandris moaned. "Thanks to Miss Rattlecage, it will be the first of many kal'dorei wombs to bear pureblood orcs!"

The audience, already raucous, exploded in energetic conversation that seemed to focus on one very important idea. Half-breeding between night elves and orcs would only produce offspring outcast by both races - but if night elf wombs could be made to breed warriors and not tiny-dicked, cock-sucking faggots… it would be the last piece of the puzzle to exterminating their race entirely. Tyrande's wail of dismay was drowned out by the noise.

"Now, buy me," Shandris mewled, her voice that of a rutting, cum-thirsty slut. "Buy me and use my womb as a toilet for your thick seed…"

"No…" whispered Tyrande. But nobody heard her. And nobody would gainsay the former Shandris from finishing the thought that might result in the end of the kal'dorei. As she did so, Tyrande fell to the ground, her knees weak, for the second time that morning.

"My name is Stupid Cunt," said Shandris, her pussy dripping and her eyes avid with desire. "And I'm going to cum so hard when you help me snuff out my worthless race forever."

***